


A Devil's Best Friend

by Xparrot



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Conversations, Drama, Episode: s03e19 Orange Is the New Maze, Friendship, Gen, Therapy, angel and demon mythos, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-20 09:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14258349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/Xparrot
Summary: Linda has a realization about Lucifer and Maze's relationship and tries to do something about it. It doesn't go very well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set the day after 3x19 "Orange Is the New Maze," written in the helpful if annoying gap before the next ep airs and josses it. Not what will happen, and actually just a bunch of my Maze and Lucifer and demon meta masquerading as fic. And somehow Maze herself is not really in this story, despite it being about her.

Linda knew it was going to be a difficult session when Lucifer didn't even wait to sit down before pulling out his flask. "So," he said after taking a swig, "it's been a week. And I—I don't want to talk about it, because I _have_ talked about it, and I understand it, and I don't want to understand it anymore, or think about it, or talk about thinking about it."

"All right," Linda said.

Lucifer gave her a deeply suspicious look, but screwed the cap back on the flask and sat down on the couch. "And Amenadiel thinks you're going to be perturbed about how everything went with Charlotte, which I've already admitted was not my finest hour, but I've done what I can, and I think he was right—don't tell him I said so—so I don't want to talk about that, either."

Having gotten the heads' up on that one, Linda just nodded and promised, "Shelved for another time."

Lucifer spun open the flask's cap again, took another swallow. "And amidst this mess—of all the times for Maze to swan off—"

"—What's happened with Maze?" Linda asked, striving to sound like a neutrally engaged therapist rather than stressed best friend—ex-friend?—to a demon who hadn't taken her calls in weeks. She'd heard from Chloe that Maze had moved out, to Chloe's confusion, but hadn't touched bases since.

Lucifer pounced on the topic with no small relief. "What hasn't happened?" and he proceeded to relate the whole sordid affair in dramatic detail: the murder, his suspicions eventually disproven with no help from their target, the frame-job, the showdown at the winery, and finally his conversation with Maze the night previous. 

The last, he gave verbatim, clearly expecting Linda's sympathy. "—She claimed that I only care about her when I don't have Chloe. That no one puts her first—me least of all, apparently. Then she said that none of us deserve her, and she walked out. And she was _crying_ when she left, of all the bizarre and inexplicable things."

"You really don't know why Maze was crying?"

Lucifer tipped back his flask for a last drop, grimaced when he was denied and stowed it away in his suit jacket. "She can't possibly miss Hell that much," he said. "It's not the kind of place you cry over."

"Could she have been crying because she was upset with you?" Linda suggested.

"No?" Lucifer frowned. "If Maze were upset with me, I'd have known it. And you'd know it now—you saw both of us, the last time she was _upset_ with me, when I didn't tell her about my plans for not going to Heaven. But I wasn't going anywhere this time—and she doesn't have to, that was the point."

"But she wanted to," Linda said, trying to sound calm, impartial in spite of her own sinking heart. "She wanted you to take her home, and you wouldn't."

" _Home_ —Hell's not her home anymore. Hasn't been for years, and it's crazy for her to think it could be. That she could just go back. _This_ is where she belongs now," and he slapped his hand down on the couch in emphasis of its prosaic solidity. "Moving forwards, not backwards. Am I wrong, Doctor? You can't want Maze to go back to Hell."

"Of course I don't," Linda said. "I'd miss her terribly. Especially when we haven't resolved our...no, I don't want Maze to go. And from what I know of Hell, it's not a good place for her. Or anyone."

"See, we're in agreement!"

"But is that why you wouldn't take her?" Linda asked. "Because it would be bad for her? Then why didn't you tell her that, if it was the truth?"

Lucifer didn't answer. Couldn't, except to glare at her.

"It's your right to refuse Maze that," Linda said. "She can't force you to do something for her if you aren't willing to. If she really wants to go back to Hell, she'll have to find her own way. But when you refuse her, you must be honest with yourself why. That it's your choice. That you're denying your friend because of what _you_ want, regardless of Maze's own needs."

"Does it matter, if they come down to the same thing?"

"Yes, it matters. It matters for you—what kind of person you are. Whether you're the kind of person you want to be. The kind of friend you want to be."

Lucifer frowned. He went to take a pull from his flask, and frowned more deeply when he remembered it was empty. Instead he took out a pack of cigarettes. Linda said nothing about this new fidget toy until he got out a lighter as well; then she reminded, "This building is no smoking."

Lucifer flashed a truncated grin. "I won't tell if you won't?"

"Not in here, Lucifer."

"But, Linda," and his dark eyes went darker still, "you know you like how I look with a fag in my mouth," curling his tongue around the double entendre.

"No," Linda said. "Wait until after our session."

"Fine." Lucifer stuffed the pack and lighter back in his pocket, set his folded hands upon his knee. "So, now that we've established I'm a selfish bastard for not damning my oldest friend to Hell—"

"It wouldn't be damning though, would it?" Linda said. "Maze would be returning as a resident, not a prisoner."

Lucifer shrugged. "As if there's any difference. You think there are demonic dorms in Hell? Bunkbeds and pillow fights? The demons live in the cells with the damned. Torturing, day and night—well, there is no day, not really. Hellfire smolders, more smoke than flames—no light, just ash and heat."

"It sounds terrible," Linda said honestly.

Lucifer smiled with half his mouth and neither of his eyes. "You don't even want to imagine it. And Maze thinks she wants to go back there."

"Yes," Linda said. "So can you imagine that, how terrible she must be feeling, that she thinks her life here and now is more painful than living there?"

Lucifer paused a moment; then he shook his head. "No, she's just remembering the good parts down there. The screams of tortured souls begging for punishment—it's what demons thrive on. Literally; there's nothing else to eat but pain and misery. They don't have to feel anything themselves; human guilt does it all for them. It's awful, but it's easier. She's right about that, anyway." He fell silent, staring down at his own hands, the gap between his loosely interlocked fingers.

"And what about everything else Maze said?" Linda asked after a moment. "Have you thought about that?" 

"The rest was just Maze being Maze. Not putting her first—what even was she talking about?" Lucifer scoffed. "I always have—for eons! Of all the demons in Hell, Mazikeen has always been number one to me—and do you how many demons there are in Hell, Doctor?"

"No—how many?"

Lucifer paused. "You know, I haven't a clue. They _will_ keep spawning in the darkest corners of the place. And then sometimes they're unmade. But there are a bloody lot of them. And amongst all those teeming multitudes, Maze was the only one I brought here with me. —I mean, it helped that she fits among humans reasonably well, doesn't need much of a glamor; it would be more complicated if she weren't bipedal...but that wasn't the main concern. Maze was the one I wanted at my side, in Hell or up here. She knows that better than anyone."

"From what you just told me," Linda said carefully, "it wasn't that she questioned how you rank her against other demons. It was that you consider Chloe over her."

"But that's absurd." Lucifer gave a dismissive wave of a hand. "Why would Maze ever think to compare herself to the Detective? A human and a demon, it's apples and oranges.—If apples were fragile mortals, and oranges had no souls...so more like peaches and pomegranates—"

"Putting aside Maze's species," Linda said, "if you think of her and Chloe both as people, as women close to you—"

"But species is the entire point here," Lucifer said patiently. "Maze isn't _people_ as you mean the word. She's a demon. She doesn't have a soul."

"You know," Linda remarked, "I've known about all of this for over a year now, and I still don't have any clearer an idea what a 'soul' is than I did before I believed in anything. I know it's how we go somewhere after we die, and so if Maze dies, she won't be going anywhere. Which is what I thought death was for humans, before, so I fail to see how that makes much difference, practically speaking, as long as she's alive.—Except that she might not die at all, which does put her ahead of the game. But otherwise, she has a mind; she has feelings. How is she different from any of us?"

"She has a demon's mind, cunning and twisted," Lucifer said. "And her feelings—well, demons aren't supposed to have those at all. And look at what she does with them! Making friends just to hurt them."

"Not on purpose," Linda said. "No more than you do. She's...unaccustomed to bonding with humans. Which you also find challenging sometimes."

"Occasionally," he grudgingly admitted. "But that's why it's so convenient with Maze and me. It's so much simpler. ...Usually."

"Were you surprised to realize you'd been wrong about her?" Linda asked. 

"Wrong?"

"You thought she could have murdered that man—"

"Oh, she definitely _could_ have," Lucifer said. "Unlike angels, demons aren't forbidden to kill humans. It's not much of a concern since they're usually down in Hell, where all the humans are already dead. But if you think Maze has never taken advantage of that loophole since arriving topside—well, Doctor, much as I hate to destroy such charming naiveté..."

"But this time, she hadn't killed anyone," Linda said. "You were wrong about her."

"This time."

"So maybe you don't know Maze as well as you thought?"

Lucifer's shoulders stiffened, then relaxed. He leaned back on the couch, stretched one arm across the back, a casually affected, casually attractive gesture. Aggressive, to Linda's practiced eye—Lucifer could wield sex appeal as a weapon as brazenly as any femme fatale. Better than Maze herself. "Or maybe you're just hoping I don't know her so well, " Lucifer drawled. "How comfortable have you ever been, truly, about being friends with a bloodthirsty demon born in Hell? Is it easier if you think of her as not _really_ a demon anymore?"

He was upset already, about more than Maze, even if he refused to talk about it; pushing this right now might not be wise. Linda could be crossing a line, if she hadn't already. Mixing friendship with counseling was a risk, if an inevitable one. But she needed to say this. "I didn't think I could be friends with a demon, no, not when I first found out. I didn't think I could be friends with the Devil himself, either. In no small part because I didn't believe either existed. But now I know better. "

"Ah, but I'm a victim of rumor and myth," Lucifer said. "A bad rap, as they say. The human view of demons is generally, if unfortunately, accurate."

"So you're telling me that demons are pure evil? That Maze herself is evil?"

"No," Lucifer said. "Not evil. But destructive. Not even intentionally; as a matter of nature. Or preternature. They're creatures of instinct, and those instincts are to cause pain and suffering. Maze, during her time on Earth, has been...domesticated, you could say. But fundamentally she's still a wild demon." He drummed his fingers on the sofa back's seam, then stilled them, not looking at Linda but down at the table between them, brooding. "I suppose, thinking of it that way, it's almost cruel, to keep her here. Out of her natural environment, as it were."

Linda stared at him. Wondering that she hadn't seen this before—but then it was so easy, wasn't it, to forget; to see something in the shape of a human being and assume it was human, in the ways that counted. To interpret an otherworldly, almost eternal existence within the metaphor of a human life, and pretend that everything lined up well enough to fake understanding. "All this time," she said slowly, "when you've talked about demons—about Maze, or when you ruled Hell—I thought they were your subordinates. Your servants, maybe. At worse your slaves."

"Slaves?" Lucifer arched an eyebrow, too mild a reaction for the offense. "Hardly, Doctor. You'd not make that mistake if ever you'd tried to give an order to a demon."

"No," Linda said. "I see that now. They weren't your slaves—they were your pets. Or maybe zoo animals, and you were their keeper—that's how you saw them. How you see them—how you see Maze. She's your favorite tame demon. Like—like some kind of prized purebred dog."

Lucifer drew up his spine, actually offended now. "Maze means far more to me than some—some furry, smelly, drooling beast. And it's not as if I own her—I've never put a leash on her! Though she has on me before..."

"A cat, then," Linda said. "Coming and going mostly as she pleases, and you'll give her treats, are rewarded by her affection—people adore their cats, even when they nip and scratch."

"Hmm." Lucifer considered this, then nodded with satisfaction. "Yes—not exactly, but close enough." He brightened. "Do you think that's what I need to do? Put out a treat for Maze—of course, something special to remind her of the fun we can have up here, that Hell doesn't offer. Very clever, Doctor!"

"That's..." Linda stopped herself before she spoke out of turn. Took a breath and held it for a five-count; she was a therapist, and they were still in session; her job was not to judge but to understand.

But Lucifer heard enough of her tone that his smile fell; he frowned at her, puzzled. "What?"

"You—do you see how this is—" But that was too leading. Linda changed tacks, started again. "Would you say that Maze is your friend?"

"Of course," Lucifer said, unhesitating. "My oldest friend."

"So you want what's best for her, as your friend?"

"Yes..." he said, more cautiously.

"Then you should keep away from her for now," Linda said. "Leave her alone—let her be angry with you. Don't try to buy out her anger—don't fake caring about her."

Lucifer scowled, indignant. "I don't fake anything, and certainly not caring—"

And there was the line, and here was Linda over it; she could see that, but the damage was already done, and she was furious. "You assumed she'd murdered someone, not for any real reason, but because it's her _nature_. You know Maze is suffering here—and you know what she's missing, you can understand it like no one else in this world can; but you'd rather talk about your own pain than comfort her. You can think about her, but only so far as what it will take to get what you want from her—then you tell yourself that's okay, though you know enough now to see that it's not, not with most friends. That's not how friendship works. But Maze is a demon, so it's all right with her. Like it's all right for you to decide what's best for her."

"So you think I should've done it after all?" Lucifer snapped. "Taken her back to Hell when she asked?"

"I think that if you wouldn't, then you should've apologized to her for failing her like that."

Lucifer's mouth flattened; then its narrow line curved into something sharp and vicious. He clasped his hands over his knee again, leaned forward. "So you're taking her side—I didn't think you and Mazikeen were even on speaking terms, after your little squabble over my brother's magnificence," and there was pure malice in his voice, as Lucifer almost never expressed openly. "Or is that what this is really about—defending her because you feel so guilty, for lying to your friend, for choosing your happiness over hers?"

Linda was getting close if he was parrying so viciously, and knowing that made it easier for her to stay on target. "I feel guilty, yes—and I'm angry with Maze, too, and that's biasing me even more—but this isn't about sides now, and it has nothing to do with my own relationship with Maze. This is about you and her."

"And what about me and Maze?"

"Your relationship is dangerously dysfunctional," Linda said.

Lucifer's smile had no joy, just teeth. "I assure you, Maze is _quite_ functionally dangerous. In a large radius around her—exponentially larger, the better armed she is. In fact I'm one of the rare few safe from it."

"I mean dangerous to Maze," Linda said. "It's damaging."

He narrowed his eyes. "You think I would—"

"It's not what you _would_ do—it's what you have. How you've always been with her," Linda said. "You're the closest thing Maze has had to a best friend for most of her existence—and you think of her as a pet. As an animal. Do you have any idea how horrible that is?"

"Is it, now." His eyes flashed—almost red, Linda thought, for all he didn't have his devil face anymore. "If you had any idea what demons truly are—what they're really like—"

"But I don't," Linda said. "I only know Maze—I only know what Maze is like. Maybe she doesn't have a soul, but she's a sentient, feeling being—deeply feeling, and deeply lonely. And you've spent a good part of this session trying to convince me not to bother being friends with her at all, because she's a demon—"

"I never said that—I was simply trying to explain, that it's only to be expected that your friendship couldn't last, given what she is—"

"If we're not friends now," and Linda wasn't expecting the tears that suddenly burned in her eyes, angrily wiped them away as she went on, "If our friendship is really over, then it's because I hurt Maze's feelings, and she's too hurt and angry with me to forgive me—and that's not because she's a demon; that's because she's a person, with feelings like any person has."

"Feelings she doesn't want," Lucifer said. "Feelings she's not even _supposed_ to have."

"Why not? Why isn't she 'supposed' to?"

"Because that's not how my father made them!"

"So then you're how your father made you? Loyal and obedient—his will made manifest, with none of your own?"

Lucifer was abruptly standing, looming over her. Taller than even his considerable height; like being looked down upon by a mountain. A volcano, rumbling before eruption. "You presume far too much, Doctor," he said, and she could almost hear the dismissive _'mortal'_ under that title.

She held onto the arms of her chair, held her ground as she stared up at the towering angel. "Then why bother listening to me at all, if all I'm supposed to say to you is what you want to hear?"

"Indeed." Lucifer's voice dropped low; his smile stretched his lips tight. "Why should I've assumed you'd understand any of this? About humans, perhaps. But Mazikeen, what she is, what she is to me—you'll never comprehend. "

"Maybe not," Linda said. "But I don't need to, to see what this is doing to Maze—what you're doing to her, on top of everything else she's struggling with. If you were really her friend, if you cared about her—if you respected her, as a person—then you'd give her space. Give her time to figure out who she is, now, without you reminding her constantly of what she was—what you still want her to be. For once, just once, think first of what she wants."

"Is that an order, Doctor?" Lucifer asked.

"It's a...recommendation," Linda said. Her fingers were curled around the chair arms like she was hanging off a sheer cliff; the air itself felt thick in her lungs. "Speaking as a therapist."

"Because you know so well, what's best for Maze. As you knew what was best for Charlotte. You do like bossing us around, don't you." His voice was lower still, suggestive, seductive. "A human, commanding the celestial. What a power trip that must be." 

It was almost teasing, as he said it; mocking. As if Linda had any power at all. Not even by ordinary human standards—Maze wouldn't sign a restraining order, not like one could do any good anyway. Not if Lucifer were determined; he acquiesced to human law by choice, for the ease of it and the entertainment, not because he had to. As the human man he passed as, he had wealth enough to do what he wanted anyway; as his true immortal self, he feared no mortal measures of enforcement.

Nor a demon's. Maze could try to walk away, but only at Lucifer's beneficence. If he wanted her back at his side, he would find a way to get her there. And he was desperate now—lost, and afraid of losing more.

If Linda hadn't brought this on; if she'd just kept her composure, her professional distance—but she'd pushed him, and pushed him toward Maze. Lucifer couldn't let this go, now that he'd been challenged, his pride at stake. 

And Maze—Maze might tear herself apart to get away, if he grabbed onto her too hard. And that would be on Linda. But she didn't have any way to stop him herself—she was only a mortal woman; she had no hold over the Devil.

—Or maybe she did. One last-ditch effort. She had to try, anyway; she owed that much. "Lucifer, I'm asking you—as a therapist and as a friend. Stay away from Maze for now."

Lucifer leaned back on his heels, leering, insouciant. "And what will you do, if I don't?" 

"Nothing," Linda said. "There's nothing I can do. So I won't. Not with you again."

Lucifer's smirk twisted, knotted up in displeasure. "What do you mean?"

"Not speaking professionally now, but personally—this is me, picking a side," Linda said. "I'm on Maze's side—I'm putting her first. And if you won't—then I can't be your therapist anymore."

It was like a rubber band had snapped, like a fever suddenly broken. The invisible pressure gathering in the room released, so that Linda could breathe freely again. Lucifer stared at her—with no flicker of impossible flames in his eyes; not from an incalculable distance but standing only a few feet away. "You can't," he said, not angry but blankly, baffled.

"I run a private practice," Linda said. "It's my choice, which clients I take on, or turn down."

"But," Lucifer said. "But—she's a demon?"

"Maze is my friend," Linda said. "Or was, and maybe we can be again—but even if not, I can't help someone who's hurt her, who's going to keep hurting her. I'm willing to work with you, to try to stop that—but only if you're willing to work with me. And if you won't, then I'm sorry, but I can't keep seeing you. It's your decision."

"I see," Lucifer said. Lucifer, who couldn't be commanded; who had Fallen, all those eons ago, rather than accept God's ultimatum. "Well, then." He went to the office door, opened it. Paused for a moment on the threshold, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe, but he didn't say anything, didn't look back.

"Lucifer," Linda said, but he was already out the door, closing it behind him gently. There was hardly even a click, and then only silence in her office.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days later Lucifer texted, to cancel their next appointment.

He didn't say anything about the appointment after that. Maybe he hadn't made his decision, or maybe he had but didn't want to tell her yet.

Linda had parted ways with clients many times. Some moved out of town; others moved on, to other therapists, or because they'd resolved their issues to their satisfaction. 

Or otherwise. Early in her residency, she'd lost Amber Kowalski to suicide. Amber had been twenty-five, only a year younger than Linda herself. She'd been getting better, responding well to the mood stabilizers; and then she hadn't. It wasn't the only reason Linda had changed over to psychotherapy. But a lot of it.

(Did suicides really go to Hell, or was that another human misapprehension? Linda had never asked. Maybe wouldn't have the chance to, now.)

Normally when she was having a hard time with her work, with a client, Linda would go out. Treat herself, get her mind off the problem. It was important to relax; the job could burn you out, if you let it. If you took it too personally.

But for the last year, Lux had been her favorite place for a night out. Hot bartenders, drinks on the house. And friends, real friends, like Linda hadn't had in...far too long. Since before her divorce, and all the combination of couples she'd drifted apart from, when she was no longer part of a pair herself.

Changing social circles was a natural part of adulthood. She would find new groups. Less drinking would definitely be better for her health, anyway.

It had been lonely before, when she and Reese first separated. The emptiness of the condo when she was the only one in it. But she'd been relieved, then, too. She didn't remember feeling this alone.

Linda thought about calling Maze. Thought about leaving a message on her voicemail, on the off-chance Maze would ever listen it. _This is what I'm doing for you._ Of course it was a meaningless gesture, when it wouldn't accomplish anything. But maybe Maze would appreciate her pain, anyway. Revel in her suffering like a demon should.

It didn't matter anyway; the only number she had for Maze didn't work anymore.

Linda wanted Amenadiel's arms around her, that gentle strength, that kindness. He was always so sure. Even when he was doubting, he was so certain in his doubt. What Linda always had to fake, he effortlessly was. Right and wrong, good and evil, not abstracts but reality as solid as the planet under their feet.

She wanted to talk with Maze. Or just go out drinking with her, live a night uninhibited, uncaring—knowing she was safe, because Maze could take on any comers; knowing she wouldn't be judged, because Maze knew the worst of humanity and yet liked humans anyway. Liked Linda anyway. Maze who didn't fear judgement herself, who was perhaps Linda's only friend who didn't semi-obviously worry that Linda was analyzing every word spoken. If Maze ever thought Linda was trying to figure her out, she didn't mind it, didn't care. 

Maze, who always seemed so sure of who she was and what she could do, as certain as Amenadiel in her way. Maybe it was the same for both of them, certain because they'd always known what they were, their truths inscribed upon their very bones. Both created with a divine purpose, that was enough for them, until abruptly it wasn't. 

(So was it ironic, or only fitting, that they produced such uncertainty in one another?) 

And how had Linda ever assumed she could untangle any of that? She'd known, from the moment she fell into Amenadiel's embrace, that she was out of her depth. How presumptuous was she, really, to believe herself a part of any of this? To imagine she could help beings such as they; to think she mattered in the cosmic scheme of things.

Charlotte Richards came for her next session. Linda was ready for her—ready to apologize, to beg forgiveness. But Charlotte was too caught up in amazement and awe to be angry. "Of course you didn't tell me," she said. "How would you have, where would you even have started? I wouldn't have believed you anyway, I would've just thought you were humoring me, while you called the men in the white coats. But it's real—it's all real..."

Linda doubted she deserved that pardon, but she accepted it anyway. One thing at least, that she hadn't screwed up beyond all repair.

She was almost pathetically grateful, when her phone rang that evening and Chloe's name showed on the display. And then immediately annoyed with herself—nothing had stopped her from calling Chloe herself, or Ella. She still had some friends, after all.

The phone chimed again, and Linda answered. "Hi, Chloe."

 _"Hey, Linda,"_ Chloe said. _"...Uh, how are you? It feels like it's been forever since we've gone out..."_

"Yeah, a couple months," Linda said.

 _"We should_ — _sorry I haven't, I just_ — _"_

"Chloe," Linda said patiently, "we've both busy career women; it's all too easy to let time get away from us. We should make a regular date of it, that'd help. But I'm guessing that's not why you called?"

 _"...No,"_ Chloe said, sounding guilty, because she was as caring as she was bad at socializing. _"I know you can't tell me any details, but_ — _if it's not breaking client privilege, have you seen Lucifer?"_

"Not this week," Linda said. "He cancelled our session."

 _"Oh,"_ Chloe said.

"Why? Is something wrong?"

 _"He's been... Since I started... I told him to talk to you,"_ Chloe said. _"I hoped..."_

"I'm sorry," Linda said.

 _"Oh, it's not your fault!"_ Chloe said, quick to offer more undeserved absolution. _"You know what he's like_ — _better than just about anybody, I guess. And he'll pull out of this, I'm sure, he always does, but...anyway. Thanks for letting me know."_

"Wait," Linda said, before Chloe could hang up. "There's one thing—do you have a current number for Maze?"

_"You don't have her number?"_

"I used to," Linda said. "But last time I tried it..."

 _"Let me check,"_ Chloe said, put her on hold a minute and then came back, _"...Yeah, disconnected."_

"I don't suppose you could trace it or something," Linda said. "—No, obviously you can't use police resources for personal..."

 _"I can check when it was turned off, anyway,"_ Chloe said. _"Linda, what's going on? With Lucifer, I've got some idea, but Maze...first you and her were at odds, I know, but after that_ — _she was dealing with something, but she wouldn't say what. And did you hear about the frame job?"_

"Lucifer mentioned it, our last session."

 _"That was the last time I saw Maze. Lucifer isn't saying, but I think he had a fight with her, too, and now... It feels like there's something big going on that I don't know anything about."_ Chloe hesitated. _"It feels like that a lot..."_

"I'm sorry, Chloe," Linda said. "I can't talk about most of this with you."

 _"No, I know, medical oath,"_ Chloe said. _"Sorry to put you in this position, it's just...if there's anything I can do, a way I can help, tell me, please? Lucifer won't...he's not talking to me, not really, ever since I... Well, anyway. Even Charlotte Richards has been acting weird. And Trixie is really upset_ — _Maze said some awful things and didn't apologize, and now she's gone and I don't know what to tell Trixie. She really loves Maze, and I thought Maze loved her..."_

 _'I made a friend today_ ,' Maze had told Linda, so proudly, and at the time Linda hadn't understood how truly momentous that was—for a demon to befriend a human. To learn to share fun and joy instead of pain.

It had been astute of Maze, to start small, with a human who didn't have that much more experience with friendship. Trixie had been, what, seven? Eight? Only a couple years longer on Earth than Maze had herself.

And Trixie, like her mother, was kind as she was strong. More generous, a better friend than Linda ever could be.

Would Maze really give up on that? 

(Would a demon do anything else?)

"Chloe, I don't know if Maze is coming back," Linda said. "Or if you or your daughter will see her again. But I know she does care about Trixie. If she's gone now—it's not because she doesn't care. It's because she doesn't want to hurt her, or you."

Maybe it was true. If it wasn't—then it was likely Maze never would be back to disprove it. A harmless, healing lie. 

Such that Lucifer would never tell, and Linda wondered, for the hundredth time, how big a mistake she was making. How much was this really about Maze, and how much was about Linda's own pride? Her need to be right, to be the expert, to have her opinion respected. 

How much, too, was it her temper, her anger on Maze's behalf—that Lucifer would've spoken to Maze like that; that he would think of her like that, even as he called her a friend.

...And yet there was the other side of it. What must it have been like, to live for ages and ages with no one to relate to but your prisoners and bloodthirsty beings supposedly no better than animals—if even that much. Was Lucifer intended to have even affection for the demons? Or were they to have been another part of his punishment? 

Lucifer, so gregarious and extroverted, damned to such utter isolation—with humans who would only hate him as their torturer, and demons who should have been incapable of love. How could any functional relationship have developed in such circumstances? And yet what was between him and Maze had lasted, endured even their coming to Earth, and all the changes to both of them, until now.

But then Linda would think of Maze, so fragile for all her strength; so young for all her experience. Acting out—same as Lucifer did, as he was now. Clinging to pride, to her own identity, under the onslaught of emotions and connections that she wasn't supposed to have at all. An impossible trial, that Lucifer only made worse with his lack of understanding—his refusal to understand.

As Linda had made worse, when she should've known better, with all the years of knowledge and training and life. How much of her anger was she taking out on Lucifer, because it was more comfortable than hating herself?

When her phone rang the next evening, she had a moment of panic that it was Chloe again, with worse news. But the number had no name attached, and an unfamiliar area code . Occasionally a client would get hold of her personal number, so Linda paused the previous week's episode of _Project Runway,_ answered, "Hello?"

There was no telemarketing spiel, just silence. Linda waited a second to see if a robocall would kick in, was about to hang up when she thought she heard a sound—a breath, perhaps? Not heavy enough to be deliberate harassment. "Hello?" Linda repeated. "Is anyone..." And then she knew, as if she could see the person holding the phone on the other end of the connection—"Maze? Maze, is that you? Are you there? Are you—"

Silence. She lowered the phone, to find the call ended.

She called the number back. It rang six times, before an even voice announced, _"The number you have called cannot be reached,"_ and the call disconnected.

Linda opened texts instead. Started a message and then deleted it, put down her phone. Then picked it up again and began another one.

What she finally wrote was, _'Maze, if this is you: I'll miss you so much if you go to Hell. But if it's what you have to do, then I understand, and I hope you're happier there.'_ She hit send, before she could rethink it any further.

Then she sat, holding her phone, not turning the TV back on. She went through her email, then the day's headlines, then her calendar for the next month, while the phone in her hand failed to alert her to an incoming message.

The text wasn't returned unsent, anyway. Though more likely than not there was some confused telemarketer wondering why they'd been cursed out so regretfully.

When a call finally did come in, Linda jumped so hard the vibrating phone flipped out of her hand like a landed fish. She fumbled, caught it and checked the screen, heart thudding. 

But it wasn't the mystery number; the caller ID this time was Lucifer Morningstar.

If he were simply cancelling next week's session as well, he could've just texted again. If he were opting to speak to her directly...

If Lucifer had bothered to look, he would have learned how many therapists there actually were in LA. He'd have his pick of options. Find an amiable open ear who would take his money and listen and fervently agree with and support everything he said, however insane it sounded; what he'd always wanted. 

Or maybe even an analyst who would truly challenge him, who would figure out the keys; someone with the resolve and fortitude to unlock all those infinite hidden chambers, to plumb those terrifying infernal depths. Someone with the wisdom to keep their distance, to stay professional. To understand their uniqueness as a mortal among this, and not be overwhelmed.

The phone stopped ringing. Started again, flashing up the same name. Linda didn't answer. Just sat looking at her phone, until the call went to voicemail. Then she sat and stared at the blinking notification icon. One message. 

It was late. She could play it tomorrow, when she was back on the clock.

She took a shower instead, stood under the hot water for half an hour and sang some Cyndi Lauper and gave heartfelt thanks to her on-demand water heater. She was just stepping out of the stall, fingers pruned and shoulders finally unknotted, when the doorbell rang.

Startling at the interruption, Linda grabbed her glasses and her bathrobe, yanked it on as she went for the door. She checked the clock in passing—late even for UPS.

But it wasn't a deliveryman, of course, unless one from the type of cliché porn Linda never bothered with. Lucifer was standing on her stoop, shoulders hunched as he tried to peer in through the front door's frosted glass. He rang the doorbell again and then rapped on the glass, calling through it, "Linda? Linda, are you there? Please answer—if you don't, I'm going to have to break your lock, and then you'll be even more upset with me than you already are, but if you're—"

Before one of her neighbors could helpfully call the cops, Linda threw open the door, said, "Yes, Lucifer?"

"Linda!" Lucifer blinked down at her. "You're all right? ...And mostly naked?"

"I was taking a shower," Linda said, not letting him off the hook by admitting she'd already shut off the water. "Before going to bed. It's almost midnight."

"I called," Lucifer said, "but you didn't answer, and you didn't reply to my voicemail. And that was your off-hours crisis line; you're supposed to always answer."

She'd given him her crisis line number early on, but he'd never used it. And he had her personal number, too; she hadn't checked which the call had come from. "I'm sorry, I should've answered," she said. "But that line is for emergencies only, you know."

"I thought it might be one," Lucifer said. "When you didn't answer..."

Lux was across the city. Even this late, he must have driven like a bat out of hell—so to speak—to show up on her doorstep this fast. He sounded breathless now.

"Did you have some reason to be worried I wouldn't be okay?" Linda asked.

Lucifer gave an unconvincing chuckle. "No—no, not in particular. Nothing on the level of, say, Mum on a rampage and bleeding light. But. Well. Things can happen. And I don't have so many friends that I can afford to just... I don't have many friends. Or any, perhaps," and if he'd sounded any more self-pitying, she might've just shut her door in his face and locked it behind him.

But there was more fear than pity in his voice, and that was real, not manipulation.

"Oh, fine, come in," Linda said, and opened the door wider to let the Devil in.

Once inside, Lucifer glanced in the direction of her bedroom—the part of the house he was most familiar with, after all; this was the first time he'd come to her home since she'd called it quits on the sex. But at her headshake he changed course for the sofa instead.

Pulling up a chair opposite would be too much like back at the office. This wasn't a session; she wasn't his therapist now. And maybe not again. Linda sat in the armchair next to the couch instead, curled up her legs to sit on her bare feet and tucked her bathrobe around her knees. She debated breaking out the scotch, but the only bottle she had was a pricey single malt, a gift from a client, and she wouldn't get more than a glass for herself, with Lucifer here.

So she didn't offer anything, just studied him. Quickly seeing why Chloe had sounded so concerned. He'd lost the vest of his three-piece suit, and the shirt underneath was rumpled. His hair was tousled, not quite artfully; his five o'clock shadow was closer to midnight, and there were dark swathes gathering under his eyes. He'd look strung out, if she hadn't known he didn't suffer such side effects from whatever illegal substances he partook in.

(It was, naturally, a better look on him than it had any right to be).

On her couch, without anything in his hands, he fidgeted, crossing his long legs, uncrossing them; folding his hands over his knee and then planting them at his sides. "So," he said finally. "You're all right, then. That's good. If he'd—if anything happened to you again, because of me—or because of anything else, but—"

"I'm fine, Lucifer," Linda said. 

"Good," he said, heartfelt. "I'm glad." He hesitated, stilled for a moment, drumming his fingers on the corner of her couch cushion. Finally he said, "I've been considering it. What you told me before—the deal you proposed."

Linda's breath caught slightly, as she tried to school her expression. A demand, he was wired to refuse—but the Devil was all about the art of the deal.

"So the terms are that you'll keep working with me," Lucifer said, "continue with my therapy, if I keep my distance from Maze."

"For now," Linda said. "Yes."

Lucifer leaned forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, clasped hands hanging between them. He turned his head enough to look at her sidelong, not directly. "I've been thinking," he said, "would I rather know myself to be in the right, but have you wrongly hate me for thinking I was a monster? Or would I rather recognize myself to be a monster, but have you respect me for my awareness?"

Linda sighed. "I don't think you're a monster, either way, and I don't hate you. And I'm sorry for what I said, that it sounded like I did. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

Lucifer nodded acceptance of that apology, though his expression remained serious. "But you do find it monstrous of me, that I think of Maze as a demon."

"I think," Linda said slowly, "that whatever was true in Hell, for demons, for you...perhaps isn't relevant here on Earth. Or, not as relevant as you assume. But I also know that you, and Maze too, lived a long, long time in Hell. And how you survived there, what you learned there, you can't easily forget. Which is true for humans as much as anyone—it's hard to unlearn the patterns we grow up with and into; it takes concerted effort. And guidance can help. That's most of my job, when you get down to it."

He was listening, more closely than usual. Whether he was understanding, she wasn't sure. But he said afterward, "Whatever you think of me, I do care about Maze. Very much."

"I know you do," Linda said. "Which is why I'm asking you to stay away from her now. To give her the space and time to let her decide what she wants. The relationship you've had before is untenable now, with your lives here on Earth. You may be able to build a new relationship—but it's Maze's choice, whether she wants to try. And if she's going to do so successfully, healthily, then she needs to be able to set her own boundaries with you, and have you respect them."

"And you can help me do that?"

"I can try," Linda said. "I can't promise you results—especially not with Maze; I'm not doing any better with her, you know. Maybe worse. But sometimes it's easier with someone else's perspective. Even a mere mortal's."

He shot her a look from under his lashes. "You're not _merely_ anything, Linda," and his voice was low enough to be seductive, light enough to be teasing; but the warmth in his eyes wasn't either. "This deal—would it be a violation of my end, if I had any communication whatsoever with Maze?"

"Not _no_ communication," Linda said. "But it should only be on her terms."

"So it wouldn't be out of bounds if she, say, sent me an anonymous text."

"It would be her choice to do so," Linda said, "and your choice to respond, so—" and then she recalled she was talking with Lucifer, who was not inclined to hypotheticals—"Maze texted you?"

"Perhaps?" Lucifer took out his phone, showed her. The text was a single line:

_'you talk to linda'_

"Is that a question? Or a command?" Linda wondered.

"No idea," Lucifer said. "But I took her point."

The number listed with the text looked familiar, Linda noted. She couldn't remember all of the digits of her own mystery call, but she recognized the '42' in the middle.

"I haven't answered it," Lucifer said. "If a message would even go through..."

"If you do try to reply," Linda said, "then keep it short. Text only, one message. Tell her that you did talk to me. Possibly ask how she's doing. Nothing more. And don't bother her again if you don't get an answer."

Lucifer gave her a long and mildly annoyed look, but in the end only said, "All right." He slipped the phone back into his jacket. Clasped his hands around each other to occupy them, and asked, "So, do you actually think it's possible, Doctor?"

That politely spoken title made her living room into her office. Back on the job, for a moment. Linda sat up, adjusted her glasses, tugged down her bathrobe. "Is what possible?"

Lucifer didn't meet her eyes. "Maze and I. Could we could become friends, again...or ever? True friends, not whatever we had before. Or is it—am I not..."

"You can make friends—you have made friends. Real ones. So don't doubt that. But when it comes to you and Maze—I don't know," Linda said honestly. "Maybe it's possible—if you try to, and only if Maze wants to. That's your choice, and more than anything hers. Even then, sometimes relationships don't work between people. Casual acquaintance is generally possible. But deeper connections aren't, always. Not everyone is compatible."

Lucifer nodded, still gazing down at his hands, at the black stone of his ring. "I wouldn't have made it, you know," he said quietly. "All those eons in Hell—without Maze, I'd have gone mad, any number of times. If you think I'm a piece of work now... But she would remind me, when it got too bad—tell me to take a break, come up here. I'd leave her in charge, get some shore leave. But never for too long. 

"When we finally came up for good—we came together. I wouldn't have without her—she'd have tried to take over Hell, if I'd left her there. For me, she'd have done that—but I wouldn't have let her. I wouldn't have done that to her."

He didn't sound certain. Like he was trying to convince himself.

Linda knew he was telling the truth, as ever he did, whether or not he believed it. She nodded, said, "That's good, that you know that. But don't mention it to Maze, if you talk to her. Don't remind her of it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's emotionally manipulative, to make someone feel they owe you because you didn't do something awful to them," Linda said. "Not being a terrible friend is not the same as being a good friend." 

A ghost of a smile curved his lips. "Another important lesson for me to learn." He stood, and she was glad to see him straighten his jacket's collar as he did, a typically fastidious gesture. The dark patches under his eyes hadn't lessened, but maybe he would change out of that wrinkled shirt, give himself a shave. Just the ritual of it would go ways to restore his equilibrium, at least temporarily. It seemed like he needed that now. Something to rely on.

"So," Linda cleared her throat, tried for casual. "You'll be coming in at our usual time next week?"

"Yes," Lucifer said. "If you'll have me. And if I'm available."

"Would the reason you wouldn't be available be the same reason you showed up here threatening to break down my door?" Linda asked.

Lucifer shifted uneasily. "They're...not unrelated."

"Is it something you want to talk about?" Linda asked, putting aside the associated question of whether it was something she wanted to hear.

"—It's quite late," Lucifer said, checking his designer watch. "I should really be getting back to Lux, and you were on your way to bed, I believe..."

"Lucifer," Linda said. "How worried should I be?" Not at the level of a divine goddess about to go nuclear, he'd said. But there was plenty of room for more minor armageddons below that mark.

"I don't know yet for sure," Lucifer admitted. "Possibly—hopefully—not worried at all. For now, anyway; if that changes...I'll let you know."

For Lucifer to not want to talk about something was...almost as nerve-wracking as actually talking about it would be, Linda suspected. She debated pushing him on it—if she broke out that whiskey, it might be expensive enough for him to stick around.

Or she could give him time, let him work through it some on his own. Psychologically speaking it would be the healthier option. As far as the fate of the world went...it had made it this long. She could trust it to keep turning. Trust Lucifer to keep it so.

She got up, making sure her bathrobe was securely arranged, and saw him to the door. In the entryway he stopped. Looked down at her and smiled, a little strained but genuine. "Doctor, before—the last time we talked, I..."

It was strange, how much more awkward this was than all the times she'd seen him out after their mindblowing and completely unethical trysts. Or maybe not strange at all, when it mattered so much more now. "Yes, about before," Linda said. "I am sorry for our fight. It was unprofessional of me. And I'm glad you're still willing to work with me. And willing to try, for—for Maze."

"The same for me, Doctor. On all counts," Lucifer said.

He opened the door, then hesitated again on the stoop. "Linda," he said. "As is painfully evident, I'm hardly an expert on relationships, with either human or demon. But Mazikeen cares about you, deeply."

"I know," Linda said sadly. "I wouldn't have been able to hurt her if she didn't."

"It's difficult," Lucifer said. "Being here in the human world, feeling things with you. For you. Even the good feelings, they can be devastating; and the rest...."

"I don't even know if I can imagine it," Linda said. "We live with it, from the moment we're born—it's not a choice for us, being here on Earth, feeling what we do." Did that make it harder, or easier?

Lucifer's hand was curled around the lintel. A casual grip, it looked like, his knuckles not even whitening; except she could hear the creaking of the wood. "I think...it's worth it, though. In spite of everything. I've decided. It's better than otherwise."

Linda had no idea how to answer that declaration. To congratulate, to commiserate. To thank him for the privilege of hearing it. To remind him that it was his decision alone, not one anyone could make for him. Not one he could make for anyone else.

She said, "Good night, Lucifer. Drive safely."

"Good night, Doctor," Lucifer said. He clasped her shoulder in passing, with those same fingers that had nearly cracked her doorframe, a touch gentler than a squeeze, less suggestive than a caress. Before she could decide how intimate it was, his hand had lifted; then he was out the door, striding to his car at the curb.

Linda watched him pull away, then closed the door. She had just turned the lock when her phone buzzed. 

There was a text, from that same unknown number. It said, _'i would miss you too'_

Linda smiled, swallowing back the sudden lump in her throat. She scrolled through her phone's contact list to the M's, and added the number to Maze's name.

The odds were good it was just a burner phone, that within a few days it would be disconnected again. But until then.

She had no business to be involved in any of this. As out of her depth as it was possible for a human being to be.

She wouldn't choose to be anywhere else.

Linda clasped the phone to her chest, briefly pressed over her heart. Then she turned out the living room lights and went to bed.


End file.
